Strum
by Delleve
Summary: Writing a song about something you really care about is proving to be difficult for Charlie. Did his muse die in the crash? Can he simply not conceive emotion to song? Is he mad for attempting it in the first place? CharlieClaire.
1. Unworthy For An Angel

**Strum**

**Summary: **Writing a song about something you really care about is proving to be difficult for Charlie. Did his muse die in the crash? Can he simply not conceive positive emotion to song? Is he mad for attempting it in the first place? Charlie/Claire.

**Rated PG-13** for language.

**AN: **I think I'm absolutely insane for writing this considering I know it will all be disproved tomorrow with the new episode. But alas.

This is going to be a mini-chaptered fic and all of the chapters are going to be a little on the short side. No worries though, this chapter is probably going to be the shortest one so please bare with me here. Thank you for your time. I hope that all of the US citizens that are 18 and up reading this voted today!

Please review.

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**Chapter One  
Unworthy For An Angel**

_Something angelic about her face_  
_The way she moves with so much grace  
__I think I'm slowly falling  
__In something that I've never felt before___

"Ugh," I said as I sat my guitar down in the sand, perching it up against the nearest tree, and put my head in my hands as though in defeat. That had been bloody awful. Horrible, ghastly, a right load of the worst rubbish imaginable, and most devastatingly a travesty to the subject I was trying to write a song about. The right words just wouldn't come _out_.

Loud heavy metal lyrics having to do with fanatical hatred and standing up against the man I could force out from my brain in a minute but melodic and pretty things? Not so much. Maybe it just wasn't up to my ability to write lyrics about something as wonderful as ... love. Was it love though that I was feeling? Was this how love felt? Like your stomach was spinning wildly and you acted like a stupid prat whenever the object of your affections came near?

Somehow these symptoms didn't sound like love to me. They sounded more like the aftermath of a hangover mixed with a good dose of carsickness. I doubt this supposed wonderful love feels like that ... I hope.

I just couldn't understand why getting the right words out was so _hard_. Maybe it was because I hadn't had my drugs for so long. _Twelve hours, 14 minutes_, I thought dismally as I glanced down at my watch. I want them so badly that I know that within a short amount of time it will drive me to the brink of insanity. I know that in a few days I won't be able to stand it anymore and I'll do something reckless and bloody stupid. But I try not to focus on that. Instead I focus on the task at hand: writing a song worthy for Claire.

I pick my guitar up again and begin to strum a basic chord. I don't know how long I played that same chord over and over again; trying to think of the right words that I could possibly put to it. Finally, I decided to give it a go again. I closed my eyes, hoping it would somehow help my mind to function properly. Maybe with some luck my muse would come back from wherever the hell she went.

_It's a mystery  
__Why I feel this way  
__For a girl who's..._

Who's what? Pregnant? Blonde? Australian? No, none of those words were right; they couldn't have been more wrong.

Who's_ what _then?

Some nasty little voice in the back of my head answered "too good for you, mate."

I froze in mid-chord, my hands slipped from the strings, and I did nothing but just stare out at the crystal waters, almost as though I was paralyzed.

_She is_ my head realized. I didn't deserve her. She was too innocent, beautiful, smart ... she wasn't addicted to something that could land her in jail.

I wasn't worthy. I wasn't worthy of anything. What was my purpose? I didn't have one. Who actually cared about him? No one. Locke showed concern but he didn't really care. Some insane bit of me hoped that Claire cared about me but the logical part of my brain knew that this was a lie; nothing but wishful thinking. She couldn't possibly care for someone like me. She could never love me; she shouldn't ever love me. She deserved better. She probably had someone better back home.

I sat my guitar down again, now in real defeat, and buried my head in my hands. I vaguely felt something warm slide down my cheek but I ignored it. I was too busy thinking of my own unimportance to care if I was crying like a bloody little girl.

"Charlie?" A soft-spoken voice called from not too far behind me. "Are you all right?"


	2. Looking Up At Heaven

**AN: **Here it is: chapter two. I hope you all enjoy but first I'd like to thank everybody who reviewed. You all rock my world.

**szhismine**: Continue I most certainly will! Thanks!

**Leah**: I'm glad you think everything still fits in all right considering I was pretty concerned about that. Thanks!

**suspencer**: I'm glad you like it! Thanks!

**She's a Star: **I'm honored and very glad that you think Charlie's characterization was right. Thank you!

**Little Leprechaun**: Thank you! 'Aww' is always a nice thing to get. ;o)

**Kelie**: I'm happy you want to read more! I love Charlie/Claire. The chemistry is most certainly there. :o)

**AA Battery**: Update I have. ;o) Thanks!

I want to extend my gratitude to Mint Sauce because she helped me a bit with my ending and is always there for me to Lost rant to. Now I demand all of you to read her lovely Charlie/Claire fic _Anagram_ right after you read this because it is simply brilliant.

Now, I edited this chapter a little to fit in more with The Moth. But, alas, not everything fits in exactly so it's just a tad AU as of now, which there was really no way to avoid. And ... I'm rambling. Isn't this new...

Please review. :)

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**Chapter Two**

**Looking Up At Heaven**

I raised my head a little and quickly said, "Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine," while all the while wiping my face furiously but discreetly as possible to remove the tears.

It was Claire. I knew it was Claire. No one else on the island had a voice as friendly or as beautiful as hers, and even more apparent was that no one else was Australian.

"Hey," she said softly as she walked over, holding her pregnant stomach as she moved. I raised my head fully from my hands just so I could see her. Somehow even just seeing Claire was reassuring to me. She was like an angel in our midst, a beautiful, caring angel. I remember when I first talked to her that I had actually been surprised that she didn't have white feathery wings coming out of her back.

I often find myself just staring at her like some kind of mindless idiot. I just can't believe how ... nice she looks. Her golden hair hangs scraggily from having gone so long without washing it; it's still beautiful. Her pleasant face; tanned and soothing to see is always beautiful. Her thin body (despite her pregnant belly) and long, strong limbs are good-looking. But most remarkable of all is her stomach that holds a new life. I've never really thought about pregnant women before ... I mean what's actually going on in there. It's amazing. There's actually a new human that's growing from the nutrients and things she gives it. It's just ... wow.

She'll make a wonderful mother.

"Hey," I said back, finally returning to my bloody senses. "How're you?"

"I think you should be the one answering that question," she said. It was nice how she said it; not demanding or harshly. She said it like she actually was interested, like she actually really wanted to know.

I wanted to tell her the truth.

I wanted to tell her how damn much I was thankful she was there, how I was about ready to snap without my drugs, how much I wanted to punch Locke in the face for taking them from me, how I couldn't think of the right lyrics to describe her wonderfulness in the song I was attempting to write. But I didn't. I couldn't.

"Fine," I answered, while I knew bloody well I was anything but. "Just going a bit mad on this island."

She nodded. "Everyone is."

She settled herself down on the log next to me, slowly, holding her stomach as she descended. The warmth of her body next to mine felt so nice even though it was hot as hell here.

I hadn't felt this feeling for so long. I barely could even recall the last time a girl made me feel ... tingly whenever I was near them. I was surprised I could even speak coherently around her. I had been okay with girls in high school ... but I had never been in love.

In Driveshaft all the girls crowded around Liam. "Liam, you're so bloody hot!" "Liam! Marry us!!!" "Liam, shag us senseless!!!" I had just been in the background for the most part, which was something I had minded quite a bit...

But I don't want to think about that. Driveshaft has reached its end, Liam's even more of a complete bastard, and I'm here on this bloody island for God knows how long. Dammit, dammit, dammit...

"I heard you playing your guitar," Claire said suddenly as she turned her head to look directly at me, instantly snapping me out of my stupid reverie. Her eyes were so blue and I didn't know how I couldn't have noticed them before...

"You did?" I asked, my stomach suddenly beginning to do back flips. Oh, God, had she heard me _singing_? Did she _know_? Oh, God, please tell me she hadn't heard me. _Please_ tell me she didn't know that I had been singing about...

"You're really good."

The knot in my stomach untwined itself and my heart stopped beating out of my chest. Oh, thank you, God.

"Er ... thanks. A lot. Really. Er..." I was bumbling like an idiot. How does she _do_ this to me? Maybe when a woman gets pregnant they start sending out male idiot waves or something... "I was just playing the same chord though. It was nothing massively ... amazing."

Claire shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I can tell you know all sorts of chords. Mr. Locke told me you really had a passion for music a few hours ago actually."

"Er ... yeah." Again my stupidity rose a few points with each 'er' I said. "Yeah. I have a lot of background in it; loads. It's my life, really. I 'spose you could say I'm obsessed with my guitar."

She nodded and smiled warmly. "I could tell."

I grinned back. It was mad how insanely _happy_ she made me. When I was around her I nearly forgot about my absent drugs all together, which was definitely a miracle from above. As she gave me one last smile and slowly rose to help with dinner, I picked my guitar back up again.

_Y'know, if she wasn't alive I could actually mistake her for an angel. _My fingers met the guitar strings and once again I attempted to strum about my cherub.

**AN: **Nope! That's not all! Expect the next chapter to be up hopefully sometime relatively soon.


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